


Duck

by CloudySonder



Series: Happy Angel, Happy Demon [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale, BAMF Crowley, Drabble, Fluff, Homophobia, M/M, Protective Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 23:31:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20536436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudySonder/pseuds/CloudySonder
Summary: When Crowley looked at his angel’s face, he knew the man had to go.Said man should’ve ducked the second he called the eccentric couple a pair of faggots.





	Duck

Side by side, Crowley and Aziraphale looked like a rather odd couple. One wore all black, somehow managing to slouch while he walked and sneer at anyone who passed by, and the other stood rimrod straight beside him, a walking white tartan coat with a small smile on his face. On paper, it sounded like two eccentric friends walking side by side. In real life, the way the demon glanced at the angel and the way the angel smiled back sent overwhelming waves of smittenness to anyone who watched them.

The darkly dressed man referred to his other as “angel”. The tartan coat addressed him as “dear”.

If it looked like a duck, walked like a duck, talked like a duck—

“FAGGOTS!” A man glared at them, half of his face crinkling in disgust. “God, the gall of people these days! I don’t want to see some fags smooching each other on the way to the fucking grocery store. It’s wrong and unnatural and just—” He looked like he was holding back a gag. “—godawful is what it is.”

Crowley glared right back at the man and watched his confident hatred wither under his gaze.

“Why, why aren’t you people saying anything?!” The man found himself alone, against a quite pissed-off demon, and looked frantically around the sidewalks of London for support. “If you want these sinners to stop, you oughta stand up! Give it to them! They’re wrong! We’re right—!”

Barely containing his anger, Crowley shot his angel a quick glance, and everything in him froze cold. Carefully, he looked (didn’t listen; if he listened he might have caused a rather unfortunate incident, for the man, of course) at the man, and even more carefully, he looked back at Aziraphale, his sweet, lovely Aziraphale.

He swallowed. 

Crowley bolted towards the man, who was only a few paces away, and leaped towards him, decking him, and relishing the satisfying crunch under his fist. The man wasn’t dead; he needed to live in order to suffer, Crowley decided.

Always the dramatic performer, the demon stopped time just before the man hit the floor and gave him a gnarled, angry smile, tilting his head just so, so the man caught a glance of Crowley’s serpentine eyes.

His angel often called his eyes lovely, but the exact opposite opinion seemed to be shared by the man, who opened his mouth in a silent scream. Whatever he wanted to say would never be heard, however, as Crowley snapped his fingers, and his face met with the cold concrete of a London sidewalk.

Crowley replayed the thud the man made in his mind as he walked back to Aziraphale. 

“Crowley!” The angel’s voice was shrouded in indignation and disappointment, but 6000 years was enough for Crowley to notice the satisfaction in Aziraphale’s eyes just before he hid it. “You just wounded a man!”

“Well, wasn’t a very nice man,” Crowley helpfully pointed out. “And angel—”

Crowley leaned closer to Aziraphale’s ear.

“I was protecting him. Satan knows that if I didn’t sock him, you would’ve smited him on the spot.”

**Author's Note:**

> im not dead but im getting there


End file.
